


Butt's Challenge

by orphan_account



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Food, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6718798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Butt’s request: Power dinner to manipulate the smucks at NASA into extending their research grant. Hate-flirting to make their NASA counterparts uncomfortable</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butt's Challenge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buttpatrol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttpatrol/gifts).



Mr Cutter’s hand grazed gently across Rachel’s knee. A reminder. _Be here. Get out of your head and be here._ She gave him an answering scowl, which she turned into a cough and a smile for the benefit of the NASA bigwigs he’d invited to dinner. He looked as placidly unperturbed as always, and he didn’t even turn his head away from the absolutely riveting conversation he was having with one of the old white men about jerosite as an indicator mineral for bacterial synthesis. _We have actual conclusive proof of extraterritorial life and we’re sitting here discussing the finer points of abiotic versus biotic XRD patterns instead of analyzing the real thing._ Of course, XRD patterns and a nice dinner would be enough to get their research grant extended. The real thing would too, but that would involve sharing, and Mr Cutter was not known for his charitable spirit. Rachel flagged down a waiter and asked for another glass of red. Mr Cutter’s hand tapped at her knee again. _I didn’t bring you here to drink._

This time, Rachel kept her socially acceptable smile on her face. She simply took his hand and pulled it further up her leg, to where the edge of her pencil skirt met the warmth of her thigh. _Then entertain me, dammit._

Mr Cutter’s head turned to look at her, and she saw his improbably perfect smile change into something rawer for a flash of a second. She’d gone off the script he’d written for her in his head. God, she lived for those moments when she could make him drop his smug exterior. He recovered instantly, but she’d savour the memory for the weeks or months it took for it to happen again. She slid forward in her chair so the fabric of her skirt bunched higher on her leg, his fingers now wholly on bare skin. “Mr Cutter has some fascinating ideas on synthesizing new life.” She tried to purr the words, but it may have come out more like a growl. Close enough. She leaned on the table, making the V neck at the front of her  blouse seem a little bit less like business attire. “I bet Howard and Elliott would love to hear them, Sir.”

“You’re too kind.” Mr Cutter knew how to purr. Rachel felt the familiar wetness, the mixture of irritation and desire whenever he fixed his attention on her. He’d regained his composure, damn him. More than that. His thumb was rubbing soft circles, fingers tracing some obscure pattern into her leg, each iteration taking them ever so slightly higher pushing at the boundaries of fabric. Not high enough. The lines he drew pulsed through her body to focus at such sensitive nerve endings, and Mr Cutter was nothing if not thorough. “It’s a variation on the Miller-Urey experiment, conducted in deep space. I’ve been thinking of sending Rachel to the Hermes to run it!”

Rachel felt a cold wave of terror rush over her, the jolt immediately followed by a rush of warmth and need as his index finger found her clit through her lace panties. She pressed her body forward against his hand, willing her face to calm passivity. _Please. Don’t have me killed, and don’t stop._ “I’m sure the scientific team there can handle it. Goddard takes such care in selecting their teams. The information NASA sends us on personelle is invaluable.” She gave Elliott a simpering smile. “We’re so lucky to have such close ties between our agencies.”

Elliott began a long, hopelessly boring monologue on the importance of collaboration, and Rachel made sure to nod at all the right places. She was desperately grateful for the distraction Mr Cutter afforded her, fingers bypassing her underwear now and probing the moisture beneath them. He was in full form, directing his own conversation with Howard to all the discoveries Goddard was on the brink of making. The poor fellow would think the grant extension was his own idea by the time dinner was over. And the whole time he kept her wound up, fingers thrusting with slow deliberation, each movement brushing the rough spot inside her. He could keep her on the edge for hours if he was in the right mood.

It didn’t take hours for their dessert to arrive. Mr Cutter withdrew his fingers without ceremony, and she stifled a gasp at the sudden emptiness. He wiped his fingers on her thigh, and reached for his fork. “You must try their cheesecake, Rachel. It’s the best thing on their menu.” It was hard to look at anything besides his hand as he cut the tip off the slice and balanced it on his fork. “Open up!”

“Yes, Sir,” she muttered. Somehow, it didn’t come out quite as mocking as she had intended it.


End file.
